


acceptance

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gender Issues, Gender Roles, Genderfluid Character, Genderqueer Character, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mycroft is a good big brother, john doesn't understand gender, so some of the wording will be awful sounding but it gets better i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 21:55:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2041623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sherlock holmes is genderfluid and john watson doesn't get it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	acceptance

**Author's Note:**

> so i started writing this fic at about 5 in the morning and then fell back asleep and then woke up and rewrote it so hopefully it'll be better than it was at 5am. also, this wasn't beta-ed or britpicked so there will probably definitely be mistakes.
> 
> also HEY! john watson has NO CONCEPT of genderfluidity or the gender spectrum in this fic so there is some language that may sound transphobic but NO SLURS. so, yeah. also it gets better as john understands a bit more about sherlock and their gender and yep. there you go.
> 
> (also the formatting is a little wonky. sorry.)

            John’s medical conference ends early.

            He takes the train back into London and then takes a cab to Baker Street and strolls up to the door, smiling at the crooked knocker, and lets himself in.

            And honestly, if he was going to find out anything personal about Sherlock—besides the fact that he’s a genius, an arsehole, and plays the violin—this was the way to do it.

\--

            He walks up the stairs and flings the door open, setting his luggage down with an exclaimed—“I’m home!”, the tone dripping saccharine sweet with the unsaid “Honey!”—which quickly fades into an eerie silence as Sherlock stares at him with what is similar to bone-chilling terror written all over his face.

            Sherlock isn’t naked, or masturbating, or shooting up, or ANYTHING particularly incriminating, really. He’s just sitting there, legs crossed, drinking tea.

            In a dress.

            The dress is of modest length, not too form fitting but not baggy either. It’s dark blue and clashes against his skin. His feet are clad in white socks with frills at the tops of them.

            John is torn between staring at the gorgeous bare skin between the bottom of the dress and the tops of the socks or finally making much-needed eye contact.

            When his eyes meet Sherlock’s face, he notices simple makeup and red lipstick. He looks gorgeous, really. Mainly horrified, but still gorgeous.

            “Hi.” John says.

            Sherlock bites his lip. Winces. Says, “Hello, John.” His eyes dart to the side. “You’re back early.” His fingers twitch.

            “Conference was cancelled,” he explains.

            “Yes,” Sherlock notes. He looks like he’s ready to bolt. John strikes while the iron is hot.

            “You-“

            “Are in a dress, yes, I’m aware.” Sherlock closes his eyes.

            John glances away, suddenly uncomfortable. A delayed reaction, maybe. “Why?”

            Sherlock’s eyes shoot open, glaring daggers into him. “Your sister was a particularly avid member of the LGBTQ community, John. Surely she would have explained the concept of gender to you.”

            John quirks an eyebrow, “My sister hates me.”

            “Fine.” Sherlock clicks his tongue. “Have you ever heard of genderfluidity?”

            John shakes his head. The words sound like a different language.

            Sherlock sighs. “Well. Sometimes I feel like one gender, and sometimes I feel another.” Sherlock looks down at his lap. “Today I feel female.”

            John doesn’t understand.

            “So, try to use female pronouns—you know, she and her—and be reasonably respectful.” Sherlock gets up, his (her?) skirt flouncing around him. “Goodnight.”

            He flutters into his bedroom.

            John stares after him for minutes after he leaves.

\--

            Mycroft visits one day when Sherlock is dressed like a girl. He doesn’t bat an eyelash.

            “Mycroft knows?” John asks.

            “Of course he knows,” Sherlock scoffs, “How could he not?” His nails are red today.

            “Yes, how could I not?” Mycroft smiles, “Sister dear has been presenting since she was only thirteen. Perhaps even before then.”

            “But he-“ John starts.

            “She,” Mycroft interrupts, glancing harshly at him.

            John shuts up.

\--

            Sherlock dresses masculinely one day.

            It’s strange seeing him without makeup.

\--

            He doesn’t wear feminine clothing for a whole week while they’re on a case.

            “So are you not wearing dresses anymore?” John asks.

            Sherlock looks bored, “Don’t ask stupid questions, John.”

\--

            The next day she wears a black dress. Casual. Red lips.

            “You look pretty,” John comments.

            Sherlock looks up, taken off guard. “Oh. Um. Thank you, John.”

            “You’re welcome.”

            He doesn’t say anything if he catches Sherlock glancing in the mirror and smiling at herself more than once.

\--

            He walks in on her putting on her makeup one day.

            He stumbles, choking out, “Oh, I’ll leave,” as if he’s seen something that he shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t be reacting this way, should he? He’s seen her in the makeup before. Him. Her? God, he’s so confused and it’s-

            “I can hear you thinking. Stop. You can stay.” Her face is blank, her hand moves slowly as she runs an eyeliner brush across her lid.

            He stands there awkwardly for five minutes before taking a seat at the foot of her bed, watching her in the mirror. She runs the lipstick over her lower lip, plump and bright and John has to squirm to make himself comfortable.

            This whole thing has been messing with him and his sexuality and he just wants things to go back to how they were before, with him and Sherlock being a man and-

            Sherlock clicks his tongue. No, wait, she’s wearing makeup. Her tongue. She turns and looks at John.

            “What are you thinking about that’s making you so upset?” Sherlock has blush across the apples of her cheeks and it makes John’s stomach lurch. Her lined eyes trail over his rigid body before landing at his crotch. Her mask flickers for a second, showing pure surprise, before returning to its normal state.

            “Nothing, I’m just-“

            “You’re aroused,” she says plainly, like that’s something anyone would bring up in normal conversation. She puts her hands on her hips. John wants to rip them off and take them in his hands, bring her down in his lap, kiss that pretty neck, fuck her until- “Very aroused,” she notes.

            John swallows slowly.

            She moves forward. John can’t tell what she’s going to do. He’s overwhelmed and scared and- and-

            Sherlock lowers herself into John’s lap, rocking her hips into his. “Tell me. What about it aroused you?” Sherlock cocks an eyebrow, “The dress, the makeup?” When she doesn’t see a response to either of those things, her mouth creates a perfect circle, bright red. “Oh. Is it just thinking of me as a girl?” Sherlock rocks her hips harder, rubbing her pelvis into his cock. “A good little girl. Just for you, captain. Isn’t that right?”

            John groans, hands flying to Sherlock’s hips, moving her in jerky thrusts before coming with a sob into her shoulder. He shakes as she wraps her arms around him and lets him shiver against her. “It’s okay, John,” she says, repeatedly. “It’s okay.”

\--

            The next day Sherlock wears a suit.

            John doesn’t leave his room for the entire day.

\--

            The day after that, Sherlock also wears a suit.

            John tries to stay in his room, but Sherlock comes up the stairs (men’s shoes. He’s wearing men’s shoes.) and knocks on the door, lightly.

            “John?” He says.

            John grunts.

            Sherlock slips through the open door and closes it behind him. His head cocks to the side at seeing John, still in bed with four empty tea mugs on the bedside table. “Are you ill?”

            “No.” John mumbles.

            Sherlock sits down on the bed. His legs are in pants and it’s strange not to see the skin there. He stares straight forward.

            “So it’s about me,” Sherlock says, blankly.

            John glances up at him. He can’t read him. It’s terrifying.

            Sherlock closes his eyes. John can see left over eyeliner there that he didn’t rub off all the way. “I explained the situation to you, John.”

            John rolls over.

            “Please. Please, talk to me.” Sherlock stares at John’s back.

            This is frightening, really. That Sherlock actually feels the need to ask for John to answer, for John to communicate with him. It feels like role reversal. John turns back over.

            “What don’t you understand?” Sherlock asks.

            John clears his throat, “I just don’t get how you can be a girl one day and a man the next.” John stares at the wall. “I just don’t get it.”

            Sherlock makes a pained expression before glancing at John. “You’re the only person I’ve trusted with this besides my brother,” Sherlock says.

            “I need.” John pauses. “I need you to teach me.” He closes his eyes. “This isn’t going to work if I don’t understand it, Sherlock.”

            Sherlock nods. “Okay.”

\--

            They begin short lessons on gender daily. Sherlock explains gender roles in society and how dresses don’t even have to be feminine. Makeup doesn’t have to be feminine. But if Sherlock says he is a woman, then he is a woman. If Sherlock says he is a man, he is a man. John nods through this.

            “It all depends on how I feel when I wake up,” Sherlock says.

            “But what about before? When I didn’t know? What about on cases?”

            Sherlock smiles, “I don’t need to be dressed in a skirt and a blouse to be a woman, John.”

            John goes over this in his head before nodding.

            “Okay. So you’ll just,” he says, “tell me every morning?”

            Sherlock looks surprised. “You’d be willing to do that?”

            John cocks an eyebrow, “Why would I not?”

\--

            They fall into bed for the second time on a day when Sherlock is presenting as male. John fists Sherlock’s cock and rubs his own against Sherlock’s plush lips and comes across the bridge of his nose and makes Sherlock scream, makes him come.

            The time after that, Sherlock feels particularly feminine and is wearing panties when John takes her dress off. He can feel his cock leaking through his pants and he wants nothing more than to just suck her clit until she comes, finger her until she’s open and ready for his cock, god he wants, he wants.

            They are particularly good at this aspect.

\--

            “Don’t talk to her like that!” John shouts at Donovan, not comprehending what is flying out of his mouth until it’s actually out.

            “Oh, that’s new,” Sally chuckles. “The freak is a woman now?”

            Sherlock flushes bright red and flees the room, feeling the lace of her underwear scratch against her bare thighs. She feels sick.

            John follows, desperate to make it up, make it right, mouthing apologies against her neck. “I’m sorry, Sherlock, sorry, love.”

\--

            They make rules. No feminine pronouns at crime scenes, no telling anyone else without permission. They tell Mrs. Hudson, or rather she finds out herself, after walking in on Sherlock playing the violin in a particularly nice dress.

            “Oh, wonderful, Sherlock!” She applauds. “You look beautiful!”

            Sherlock blushes and bows as she finishes her piece. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson,” she hums.

\--

            John comes to Sherlock’s parent’s house with her for Christmas. Sherlock wears a red long sleeved knee length number and a dark red lipstick, her eyes glimmering.

            When her mother opens the door she hugs her tightly. “Oh, Sherlock! You look so pretty, dear.”

            And her father corrects her with, “No, no, she looks _beautiful_.” And John is particularly overwhelmed by the acceptance he is greeted with. (He also thinks he should have invited Harry, for all that she’s worth.)

\--

            “I had a fling with a transgirl in uni,” Sherlock’s mother explains, “She was the sweetest thing. So pretty, really. Taught me all about the gender spectrum and how to treat people right.”

            John nods.

            “Sherlock is so lucky to have found someone as accepting as you are,” she says. “Lord knows she’s been through a lot to get to you.”

            John smiles and makes a note to ask Sherlock about just what her mother is talking about.

\--

            John turns to Sherlock in the guestroom bed that her parents set up for them.

            “Did someone hurt you?” He says, blunt.

            Sherlock sighs. She leans in and kisses John. “No one who matters anymore.”

            “But-“

            “John,” she smiles, “I have you now, don’t I? Nothing else matters.”

\--

            Harry cheers over the phone when John tells her about Sherlock and their relationship and how happy he is.

            She also apologizes for never teaching him about gender the way she should have.

\--

            Sherlock wakes up one morning feeling particularly happy. He glances over at John, whose head is face down in a pillow, snuffling into it, mumbling. The weight of the ring on his finger feels heavy, but it feels right. It feels good. It feels warm—like acceptance. 

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed this follow me at http://gusgrimly.tumblr.com for more sobbing about gender and sherlock holmes! thanks for reading!


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